December Street
by The Star Fisher
Summary: One boy. One girl. One romance. One mystery. And one history class, located at 195 December Street. Influenced very strongly by Pride and Prejudice.
1. Something Started in Her History Class

December Street

_Chapter 1: Something Started in her History Class;_

In Morgan Bennet's history class, half of her classmates thought she was crazy; half of her classmates thought she was perfectly normal; and all of the teachers at Boston College thought she was brilliant. Morgan herself didn't get what all of the fuss was about.

That was where everything started, after all. In her US History class. Morgan was nineteen when she happened along an odd turn of events.

It was the end of her English literature class when a pale hand appeared on its own, in stark contrast to Morgan's tanned skin. Morgan turned but didn't even need to look to know that a blonde-haired and blue-eyed girl, but still possessing cat eyes like her own, would be looking at her. "I'm coming, R. Thanks, Professor McGee."

Rachel Bennet, Morgan's twin sister, tugged the darker-haired version of herself across campus. "I want you to meet my boyfriend," Rachel said. The Bennet twins flew across the center quad, brown hair following blonde hair, but two pairs of almost slit-shaped eyes laughing at the other. Rachel pulled Morgan onto one of the little side streets along campus, where a large ivy-covered, red brick building framed the corner. The street sign read "December Street." Into the air conditioning they went – Morgan reveled in the cool air – and up a flight of stairs. A crowd of students milled about in front of one of the classrooms.

"Charlie!" Rachel called. A tall young man with shocks of red hair that seemed to flop over into his face turned and beamed at Rachel, who grabbed her sister and made a beeline for him.

"Charlie, this is my sister Morgan – she was on exchange in England over the summer."

Charlie turned. "Hi, Morgan. I'm Charlie Bingley."

"Nice to meet you, Charlie. R's mentioned you once. Or twice. Or hundreds of times."

Morgan gave a laugh as Rachel blushed. "M!"

"Relax, I'm joking. Or is that forbidden, too?"

"Of course not, M." Rachel seemed affronted; in a burst of affection, Morgan hugged her sister tightly. Rachel was the person Morgan had missed the most while on her research trip to England.

"Sorry, R."

Morgan looked at Charlie, who seemed amused. Then he asked, "You're twins?"

"15 minutes apart," Morgan answered. "She's older, but I'm more reckless, so it makes some sense. We're fraternal. She looks like Mom and I look like Dad."

Charlie nodded. "In the front then, Rach?"

Rachel, happier than she'd been since the beginning of their senior year of high school, grinned. With identical smiles plastered onto Rachel's and Morgan's faces, it was obvious they were twins. "Sure."

Morgan, on her own, took a seat in the back.

Ten minutes late, Professor Custer walked into the classroom full of laughing and talking college students. He was a short, balding man who carried an armful of books and a cup of coffee, and who would consistently manage to make comparisons of himself to the great general of the same name. "Hello."

No one moved.

"I'm Professor Custer." He paused. From the back of the room, Morgan could see Rachel slip her hand into Charlie's. Although happy for her sister, Morgan jealously wished that she could have some of that joy herself.

"We'll be studying history. And not just any history, but the history of our country. Along with your opinions, we will be delving further into the depths of historical discoveries and accuracies. This year, we'll study not just the Pilgrims, Indians, and wars, but the scandals and triumphs of this country."

Fascinated though she was, Morgan scribbled a quick note to Rachel.

_I hear wedding bells already!_

She sent the note flying up the aisle. Unfortunately, as Morgan watched the note, a hand was there to meet it. Morgan followed the hand and up the arm connected to it, and was finally staring into Professor Custer's eyes. He opened the scrap of paper, cleared his throat, and read, "'I hear wedding bells already.' What is this, high school?"

The class echoed with laughter. Rachel buried her head in her arms but Morgan looked straight ahead with perfect defiance. Professor Custer gave a grim little smile and walked down the aisle to where Morgan was sitting.

"I think we'll be very good friends, Ms. Bennet," he said, and turned away.

Somehow, Morgan didn't doubt it.

A/N: Very loosely based off Pride and Prejudice...nine more chapters to go. Morgan, obviously, is Elizabeth; Rachel is Jane. Please R&R!


	2. Everything Exploded

2

December Street

_2. Everything exploded when introduced to the best friend_

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Two days later, Rachel and Morgan sat clustered in the back of history class. Morgan attempted to make a civil apology for their professor reading the note. Rachel, on the other hand, chewed her ragged fingernails. Her curly blonde hair hung in her face but her eyes pierced Morgan's. "I..." She hesitated.

"Listen, R, I'm really sorry. I didn't know Custer was going to read the note!"

"You make it sound like you knew what was going to happen all along." Rachel narrowed her eyes and gave sort of a half-snort. Morgan cringed. Rachel's temper matched her own. "I don't know, M."

Morgan shrugged. Rachel rolled her eyes and settled into her own seat. Charlie sat down on Rachel's other side. Then he leaned around his girlfriend and said, "Hey, Morgan. I've got someone I want to introduce you to."

Rachel and Morgan looked at each other and laughed. Morgan said, "Are you trying to set me up?"

"Well, sort of," Charlie admitted bashfully. Rachel giggled and kissed him; Morgan made a face and turned away in a bit of mockery, still laughing. "He's my best friend since high school, see – we're close. Paul?"

A dark flash caught Morgan's eyes and she found herself looking into deep chocolate eyes. The young man's almost-black hair fell a little onto his forehead. He didn't smile, but his eyes glittered jokingly. "Yeah?"

"Don't be antisocial," Charlie said. "Come on back here."

Slowly, the young man lumbered back to where Morgan, Rachel, and Charlie sat. He lowered himself into the desk next to Morgan. He stretched out a hand; young but worn with the kind of stretch marks that people receive when they have seen things beyond their wisdom. He was very tall and gave Morgan a dark-eyed appraising look of scrutiny as he introduced himself. "Paul Darcy."

"My best friend since freshman year of high school," Charlie proclaimed, bursting with excitement. "I used to date his sister, but that didn't last more than a month."

"Because Gillian dumped you for someone her own age, and thank God," Paul said, giving a curt smile. "She's got good taste sometimes, I've got to say."

Morgan laughed and looked over at her pretty blonde-haired twin. "I wonder what Rachel thinks of Charlie's past girlfriends."

Rachel laughed and protested lightly, but Paul gave Morgan a look that rested somewhere between a glare and a shy smile. "I wonder."

"Morning!" echoed a voice from the front of the room, and balding Professor Custer grinned from where his head poked over a pile of books. The books were pushed to one side of the cluttered desk. He took a sip of coffee before continuing, "Wonderful day to discuss the theoretical side to Roanoke, yes?"

No one answered him. Half the class was asleep and the other half buried it something having nothing to do with history; only Rachel was buried deep in her notes next to Morgan. The latter kept sneaking glances at Paul.

A paper airplane whizzed over Morgan's head and Paul caught it rather clumsily. As Morgan watched out the corner of her eye, Paul scribbled down a note and tried to launch the airplane. Except for one tiny problem: Paul couldn't launch a paper airplane to save his life, and the airplane skidded to stop on Morgan's desk. And, well, she had to read it, right?

A note in loopy script that must have been Charlie's unfolded first: _D'you like Morgan? (I'm half-in-love with Rachel already.)_

Morgan, thinking of her sister in that moment, beamed. The matchmaker in Morgan loved to see with Rachel with someone who wasn't, for once, trying to take advantage of her. Her peripheral vision showed Paul looking shocked and confused, and – scared? And then Paul's message was on the second half:

**Morgan's pretty, but not as hot as Carolina.**

Oh, she thought as she glared a hole into Paul's head, this means war.


	3. So When He Was Rude

3

December Street

_3. So when he was rude in front of her (cheating) boyfriend_

"Morgan, you coming?"

Morgan looked up from her bed where she lay sprawled out in sweats and a t-shirt with millions of books. With a huge history exam tomorrow, she had to cram. Tonight really wasn't her night to go clubbing. Rachel – typically the good child – was dressed in a short skirt, high heels, and tank top. She grabbed her precious silk shawl from the coat tree in the front hallway. Morgan shook her head. Brown curls flew in the air. "I really have to study, R."

Rachel grinned wryly and sat down on the edge of Morgan's bed. Only a month into the school year, and since that first fateful history class, their little apartment seemed more squashed than ever; peeling posters adorned the faded wall, clothes were flung all over the place, and there was just enough room to squeeze in a bed, dresser, desk, and TV cabinet. Rachel reached out and lightly tugged a section of her twin's hair. "You need some life, M."

"Oh, Rachel." The evil twin grinned. "I wish I could, honestly. But go! Have a good time with Charlie."

Morgan gave her sister a little push off the bed but Rachel remained firmly planted. "I'm not going till you come."

"Scared, R?" Morgan grinned and jumped off the bed with a loud thump that would surely disrupt anyone on the floor below them. "Fine, then, I'll come."

Rachel gave a little squeal of happiness as Morgan dressed. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"That club that Cathy told us about," Rachel said absentmindedly. "The one near the airport."

Morgan looked up in horror. "Not the one that Audrey was so adamant about us seeing?"

"Yeah, that's the one!" Rachel grinned as Morgan checked herself out in the mirror. "Oh, stop being so vain. You look fine. Let's go; Charlie's waiting."

Morgan was looking at herself in the mirror from every direction to buy time. Audrey and Cathy, Rachel's two best friends, had pushed for Rachel to go to this seedy club near the airport. Morgan had heard perfectly horrible things from her own friends Mia and Jocelyn, though, and although she trusted Cathy inexplicitly Audrey was quite the other matter. Morgan hated Audrey; hated her on-and-off alcoholism, smoking habits, her spiked white-and-black hair, and her horrible 90's clothes.

"I really don't think we should go there," Morgan started off hesitantly. She felt like their roles were being switched and she was uncomfortable with it. Morgan was always the one who was so sure of herself and leading them everywhere. "It's awfully seedy."

"Oh, shut up." Rachel rolled her eyes, stood behind her twin, and ran a brush through Morgan's wild curls. Their cat-like eyes connected. "It'll be fine."

Morgan and Rachel remained silent throughout the drive over and their walk into the seedy club. The cold wind slashed against Morgan's bare arms and long legs; her dress whipped around her legs and Rachel tugged her along inside irritably. "C'mon, M, let's get inside."

The club reeked of alcohol and was dim and dark. Morgan could barely see and wished that, for her own sake, she hadn't worn a dress that was so low-cut. Already a few men leered at her. The two sisters hustled over to the bar, where two men sat waiting.

"Oh!"

Morgan turned around. Rachel stood there sadly, clutching at her shoulders and looking particularly forlorn.

"Rachel?" Morgan whispered, rushing over to her sister. "You okay?"

"My shawl," Rachel whispered brokenly. "It's gone."

Morgan's eyes widened. That silk shawl had been their grandmother Gardiner's and her grandmother's before that. It was old, ancient and Rachel treasured it more than anything Morgan had ever seen before.

"I believe..." said a voice as Morgan followed it, "this is yours?"

A young man with slate-blue eyes and an Army-like buzz cut held out Rachel's silk shawl in his hand. Morgan gave him a small, curt smile but Rachel dove into his arms. He sportingly patted her on the back and arranged the silk shawl around her shoulders. Rachel grinned and tightened it a bit more. Her curly blonde hair fell around her head like a crown, like a halo. His eyes followed the curve of her smooth shoulder and the hollow at the base of her throat; his hands trailed the fringed edges of the silk shawl.

Rachel laughed playfully. "Oh, Hayden, you're such a flirt."

Morgan came forward indifferently to stand on tiptoe and peck his cheek. "Hey there, stranger."

He kissed her forehead distractedly. "Hullo, Morgan. How're you?"

"Fine," she said irritably. Most of the time Morgan could barely believe that Hayden Wickham was still her boyfriend, even though she wasn't a naïve freshman anymore. He had a pattern: date Morgan, don't. Repeat, over and over and over; it made Morgan tired and she wanted to punch him most of the time. But maybe her bumping into him wasn't a coincidence.

Yeah, right.

"Let's go, babe," Hayden said. He pushed her towards the bar where Rachel, Charlie, and – Paul sat. Now Morgan just wanted to flee the room altogether.

The two of them sat down and Morgan said lightly, "Hayden, I don't believe you've met Rachel's boyfriend. Charlie, this is Hayden Wickham, my boyfriend. And Hayden, Charlie Bingley and Paul Darcy."

Charlie smiled jovially, his normal expression, but Paul nodded darkly, gulped back a shot of tequila, and left. Morgan turned to Hayden inquisitively, but he only said shortly, "We've met."

Hayden talked for a bit with Rachel and Charlie while Morgan was left to her own brooding thoughts. Despite the fact that Paul had been a complete jerk to her on his first day of class, he hadn't been anything but civil to her face. Hayden, on the other hand, was sort of known for being an ass. What had they done to each other?

"Are you going to talk to anyone?"

Morgan looked up in shock. "Huh?"

Charlie, Hayden, and Rachel laughed. Paul, having returned, said nothing but shot a nasty glare towards Hayden.

"Paul, you going to talk to her?" Charlie said, clapping his best friend on the back.

Paul's expression didn't change as he muttered, "She's not worth talking to, Charlie. I'm not going to resign to someone as low-class as her, although I suppose that Rachel is pretty enough."

Morgan stared, Rachel gasped. Paul said nothing and Charlie cringed.

"Morgan," Hayden was whispering now, "Morgan, I'm going to go dance, okay. You want to dance?"

Mutely, she shook her head. She hated to dance, and she wasn't about to back down to this. And why was Hayden asking her? He knew, of all people, that she hated to dance. He left in a hurry. Morgan barely noticed. Instead, she whirled on Paul, who was looking at her with his straight, honest, calculating look. Rachel cringed and Charlie glanced at his girlfriend nervously.

"You call me low-class, yet you 'resign' to talk to my sister? And we're twins. Who the hell do you think you are?"

Morgan stormed off to the restroom, leaving her barstool swirling madly and Rachel clutching her head and saying "Oh, dear."

Morgan strode across, not even registering the fact that Hayden was no longer to be seen, because when she pushed open the decidedly unlocked door to the restroom she found the reason why.

For there, leaned up against the sink, Hayden was having sex. With a woman. A woman also known as Carolina Bingley.

**A/N**: Well, after reading a bunch of different stories in a bunch of different fandoms, I realized that I'm an idiot. Congratulations, Starfisher.

First off – Disclaimer: I am not Jane Austen from the grave; I do not and cannot own Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy, or any other characters from Pride and Prejudice. In short, not mine.

Second – a huge thank you to my three super-smart beta readers; CocaJuju, my friend Pixie, and to Jess, all of whom put up with constant nagging and random exclamations of "Read this!"

So, Morgan has just found Hayden seriously cheating on her. Morgan, poor thing – I feel for her. Oh, I'm putting her through so much pain. And now I have to be guilty. (And to answer your question, ilovemclife (love your screenname!), yes, Carolina Bingley is like Caroline Bingley in the book, roughly. Oh, I'm not giving too much away, am I?) Oh, well. Please R&R!


	4. The World Was A Happier Place

4

December Street

_4. The world was, surprisingly, a happier place._

"Over. We're over. O-V-E-R! Do you even understand what I'm saying, you jerk?! Damn you! Get out! OUT!"

Morgan shoved a box of Hayden's things towards him. His handsome face lurked far too close to hers, but the box cut into his chest and made him stumble back. Morgan's eyes glared into his fiercely; in the background Rachel winced and mouthed, _Sorry_, but anyone could tell she wasn't.

"Listen, Morgan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it –"

"Didn't mean it." Morgan's voice swung dangerously low. "You didn't mean what? To cheat on me for six months? You didn't mean to sleep with that Carolina and tell me that you'd never slept with anyone before?"

"Yes! I didn't meant to lie to you –"

"See, even you admit you're a player. Now get out. Of. My. Apartment!" Morgan screamed at the top of her lungs, pushed Hayden out, and slammed the door shut as hard as she could. She whirled around and dropped to the floor, exhausted.

Rachel crouched by her. "Morgan?"

"I'm fine." She was, surprisingly enough.

Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately - Morgan barely remembered the night before. It had been a blur of excuses and something with Paul Darcy escorting her to her car. Saying something about 'maybe she needed fresh air' and then waiting until he'd gone back into the bar and driven home and cried a bit.

Then, Rachel had come home with Charlie and another young woman who looked decidedly like Charlie. Morgan recognized her on sight, and when Charlie introduced her as his sister Carolina, things got twice as worse. Carolina, the girl that Paul was after, and Carolina, the girl Hayden had been having sex with. She had kicked both Charlie and Carolina Bingley out and didn't even feel remotely guilty about it.

Her history test – the one she had been studying so hard for the night before – had gone off without a hitch. And now that this horrible Friday morning was done with, she wanted to curl up in her bed and go to sleep.

"Morgan." Rachel's voice was soft and quiet and warm. "Morgan, I'm going to take you home."

Quietly, Rachel led her sister down the steps of their apartment, out onto the Boston street, and into the car. Rachel drove onto the freeway and out of Boston, looking determinedly straight ahead at the road, driving almost subconsciously. The Boston skyline stretched out for miles before them and Morgan was so unhappy to be going home – truly home, the one city where she would always be accepted – that she wanted to cry. Curl up and cry. It was either that or sit up and smile at everyone around her while keeping it bottled up inside – so, really, what did she have to lose?

They drive on; the freeway slowly lost lanes and became a twisty two-lane highway that led out into a countryside full of big houses and forests and innocent childhoods that are remembered in fleeting wisps. As Rachel exited off the freeway the turns became more and more familiar; Morgan knew this route like she knew her own name. Along the backwoods of Massachusetts they drove and were delivered safely into the arms of a sprawling house set against a backdrop of trees and a quiet neighborhood. Rachel just got out of the car them as Morgan the Ghost Walker made her way up the porch steps.

"Morgan!" A petite blonde with Rachel's coloring and Morgan's facial structure burst out of the house. "We didn't know you were coming home this weekend! Hey, Rachel!"

Morgan walked into the house and barely heard her twin say to their younger sister, "Abby, Morgan needs a bit of rest. Come walk with me? And is anyone else home?"

But Morgan could have answered her question already because as she walked inside there wasn't anyone there. The house was empty, although the remnants of people remained: her father's newspaper, her mother's knitting, and three empty glasses of orange juice sat on the table. But contrary to the evidence, footsteps echoed throughout the house and her father's white hair swum in her line of vision.

"C'mon, poppet," he said, slowly and quietly, and led her up the stairs. "Let's get you home."

He led her up the stairs and his voice was calm and quiet, precisely what she needed. "It will be okay," he said, and smoothed down her hair, brown like his had been. "Maybe not now, but it will be okay."

And as she collapsed into her old bed in her room, she seemed to be more home than ever. And happier than she had been before.

The tears fell easily that night.

**A/N**: Wow. Um. I'm sorry I haven't updated since God-knows-when. Real life keeps one busy, unfortunately. Good news – summer is exactly one month and one day away, and then I'll have a semblance of a life again, although it might be a while before I post chapter 5. Good news: I do have all of December Street written, all ten chapters, so that is not a worry.

I'm not Jane Austen's ghost. I don't live in England, the eighteenth century, and regrettably have no books published. My eternal thanks to my wonderful friend Pixie, who helps in so many more ways than being a beta reader for December Street. In any case, happy reading...oh, yeah, right. Please review!


	5. The Boyfriend And the Mysterious Man

5

December Street

_5. The boyfriend and the mysterious man left_

Class was over in Modern Lit and Morgan Bennet was practically asleep. Students started to exit the classroom but Morgan slowly raised her head and gathered her books. The lecture was long over when Professor McGee approached her desk. "Class over, Bennet."

"I know." McGee took a sip of water and Morgan gathered her books and started to walk away.

"Say, Bennet," her teacher said. "Who's the pretty blonde that came in here on the first day?"

Morgan gritted her teeth. Rachel was always 'that pretty blonde girl' Why couldn't she be the pretty brunette for once? "My twin sister, Professor. She has another class."

"Ah. Not much interested in modern lit?"

Morgan shook her head. "She wants to be an archeologist. Although I think she should be a therapist."

"Oh." Before Professor McGee could try to get her to speak again, Morgan ran out of the room and building, sitting down on a bench to think for a minute before she had to dash off to her next class.

She hadn't seen Hayden Wickham since late September; now, Morgan pulled her coat closer to herself to protect against the rough November winds. God forbid she should ever see Hayden again. Charlie had apologized repeatedly for his sister's actions; Morgan didn't blame him. She just happened to be a bit more jealous of the beautiful redhead who had captivated both Hayden and Paul Darcy.

There had been a conspicuous absence of Paul from history. Both Rachel and Charlie had tried to lie that his schedule but been changed but failed miserably. Morgan knew he was avoiding her.

Morgan was almost happy to be alone. Until, of course, she wasn't alone anymore. Curling, beautiful blonde hair was next to her. Instinct spoke. "Hey, Rachel."

"M, let's go – we're going to be late."

Reluctantly, Morgan followed Rachel across campus and along the familiar paths that led them across the quad, past the huge grove of trees and the gazebo in the center, and towards the history building off December Street.

"You okay?" Rachel said as they entered the now-heated building and climbed the stairs, and Morgan gritted her teeth yet again. Rachel had been acting like a mother hen lately and it ticked Morgan off. She was not two, and although she had been cheated on, her mental capacity was perfectly normal. And she was happy without Hayden. So why the hell did Rachel patronize her?

"I'm fine," Morgan snapped, pushing through the door at the top of the stairs and letting it slam behind her. Moments later, the door pushed open and Rachel, concerned, trotted to her side.

"Why do you keep snapping at me?"

Morgan tried her hardest not to scream. It didn't work very well. "Because I'm _fine_!"

She stormed down the hall and into Professor Custer's class, still seething. Rachel followed her in.

"Listen," her china doll sister said. The blue cat-like eyes narrowed. "I came to get you because I wanted to tell you that the Red Cross is holding a charity ball in mid-December, as their winter fundraiser. I'm helping to set up the day before. Charlie and I are going. And I've already bought you a ticket."

"Do I have to go?" asked Morgan, her lips cold and dreading Rachel's answer.

"After that spectacle you put on for me, absolutely."

Morgan winced.

Early November melted into Thanksgiving at the Bennet house; a noisy, raucous affair with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, all five daughters, Mrs. Bennet's two brothers and their wives and children, and the elderly, snobbish, Bennet Grandmother Catherine. Morgan swept through the entire evening without blunder and keeping an almost genuine smile on her face. That night, with impossible Grandmother Catherine in the guest room and the aunts and uncles and cousins having gone home, Morgan lay in her bed and cried.

The chilly winds of late November blew into the snow flurries of December and Morgan began to gain bits of her old personality back. She laughed a bit more, cried a bit less, and tried not to think of Hayden Wickham. One cold morning found her in history class idling.

"Bennet."

Morgan's head bolted up; her pen dropped with a clatter. "What?"

The class tittered. "Do you think that Adams was right in taking the British side of the Boston Massacre case?"

"Which Adams?"

This time, the class laughed full outright. It was amusement to all who had been paying attention, but a matter of grades for Morgan when Professor Custer said, "See me after class, Bennet. _Morgan_ Bennet."

Rachel and Charlie simultaneously winced.

The class seemed to drag on forever. Stupid history class, Morgan thought – why did it matter anyway? Morgan was going to be a lawyer. She didn't need to know history.

The lecture ended and the rest of the class scuffled out. Morgan slowly gathered her books and inched towards the door behind a laughing Rachel and Charlie. Professor Custer called out, "I'm not forgetful. Come here, Bennet."

Both Bennets turned around in their steps.

Professor Bennet held up a hand. "Morgan, please."

Rachel smiled hopefully; Morgan tried to do the same. But with her grade lingering low, things didn't look too perfect. Rachel and Charlie closed the door behind them. Professor Custer's eyes didn't twinkle happily like they normally did. Instead, his wiry eyebrows rose, beckoning.

Morgan slunk back to the desk. "Yes?"

"Why haven't you been paying attention in here?"

"I don't like history."

Instead of losing his temper, like most teachers would have done, he simply nodded. "Okay," he said. "Why? You obviously don't want to be here. Tell me why."

"I don't like history." Morgan thought for a second. "Don't like memorizing dates. Too boring for my taste. I wanted to take US law, but the offices told me I had to take this first –"

She broke off at the sight of Professor Custer's face. He was smiling. _Smiling_. Was something wrong with him, with her?

He smiled and spoke. "I requested to have you in my class," he said. "I know your father. Gregory Bennet. Good man. He's told me all about his daughters. I requested it to have you. Call it an experiment, if you will."

"What - ? How - ?" Morgan asked, flabbergasted.

His eyes twinkled. "I have my reasons for having you in here. You needn't know them yet. And as to how, well, Patty Olsen in the front office is an old friend."

She shook her head. Did she have to knock Dad on the head to get the message through? She wanted to be a lawyer. He'd always complained about lawyers who talked too much about history. _The past is the past and they should let it stay that way_, he said. Was this all a cruel joke?

"If you wish to transfer out, you may."

Morgan thought about it. She didn't trust Professor Custer, but she trusted Dad with her life. And if Dad had even breathed a word about Morgan taking history, of all classes, then maybe it could be okay. "I'll stay."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Professor Custer said, and his eyes twinkled. "But I have three rules. One, don't roll your eyes when I make jokes about General Custer."

Morgan nodded but rolled her eyes anyway.

"Two, pay attention this time around. And, three – are you going to the charity ball?"

Morgan winced; it was a running habit. "Unfortunately."

"Ah. Well, a pretty thing like you ought have her dance card full, but one dance with an old gray professor?"

"Absolutely," Morgan laughed forcefully, and flew from the room.

_A/N: Ugh. Filler chapter. Oh, well. xD Could be worse, yes?_

_Thanks to Pixie, who is currently holed up sick. (Wishes to the awesome beta reader to feel better soon!) Disclaimer: I don't own Pride and Prejudice, as cool as that would be, and am not Britain's most well-renowned woman author (on par with JK Rowling and the Bronte sisters)._

_I know there aren't a whole lot of people reading this story, but for those that are, I'm going to update more often. I'd like to have this story finished off by the end of the summer. Everything's written, but Pixie is doing loads of stuff this summer and I have a lot of commitments, too. So there's that._

_A question to all you Austen fans out there: I've read Pride and Prejudice more times than I can count, and I've read Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility, but which one should I read next: Mansfield Park, Emma, or Persuasion? I started Persuasion and then had to return it to the library (I'm sort of known for overdue fees there) and liked it, but which is the best out of those three, in your opinions?_

_Please R&R – constructive criticism is appreciated more than you know!_


End file.
